


Strange

by AutisticWriter



Series: Harry Potter Autistic Headcanons [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Autism, Autism Spectrum, Autistic Arthur Weasley, Autistic Hermione Granger, Boggarts, Confusion, Crying, Echolalia, Education, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Infodumping, Multi, One Shot Collection, Self-Harm, Sensory Overload, Special Interests, Stimming, autistic headcanon, meltdowns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-07
Updated: 2016-06-10
Packaged: 2018-07-12 23:13:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 2,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7127258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AutisticWriter/pseuds/AutisticWriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of drabbles and ficlets about autistic!Arthur Weasley from Harry's perspective. Also featuring autistic!Hermione.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The first time Harry met Mr Weasley, he didn’t notice anything strange. Yes, he spoke too loudly and started asking Harry about the function of a rubber duck, of all things, not to mention the fact that he didn’t recognise him until he named himself, but Harry just passed that all off as him being a bit scatterbrained and eccentric. None of the other Weasleys seemed to think anything was strange about his behaviour either, and Harry began to question himself, and, in the end, forgot about it.


	2. Chapter 2

The second time he met Mr Weasley, however, Harry knew there was something strange about him the moment he saw him. He tiptoed down the winding corridors of The Burrow until he reached the kitchen, where he found Mr and Mrs Weasley, and he instantly noticed how oddly he was acting. Mr Weasley was burbling excitedly about Muggle technology and bouncing on the balls of his feet as he talked to his wife, who seemed to be more interested in setting the breakfast table and less interested in listening to what he had to say.

“. . . Yes, Arthur, that does sound interesting,” Mrs Weasley was saying, but Mr Weasley didn’t seem to notice the irritated tone of her voice.

“Yes, it certainly is,” he said, beaming. His hands, which, the last time Harry had seen him, had been carrying things, were now handing free at his sides, and he was tapping the tips of his fingers against the tips of his thumbs for no apparent reason. “And did you know that the Muggles get by without the use of owls, or Howlers, or any other types of technology? I for one was surprised to learn that they use a device called a tel-e-phone. . .”

Mr Weasley continued to drone on, oblivious to the fact that Mrs Weasley no longer appeared to be listening. Mrs Weasley moved to the side, and could suddenly see Harry stood in the doorway. She flashed him a smile.

“. . . and I’ve been studying them for months now, but I can’t quite seem to work out how these blasted things work . . .”

Harry stepped further into the room.

“I can tell you about telephones if you want, sir,” he said, and Mr Weasley spun around to look at him.

“Harry!” He cried, his voice far too loud. He rushed across the room and shook his hand a bit too hard. “It’s great to see you. How are things?”

Harry smiled. “Much better now I’m here, sir.”

“That’s good,” Mr Weasley said, his eyes firmly focused on Harry’s forehead.

But Harry just assumed that he was looking at the scar, and didn’t think anything more about it.


	3. Chapter 3

One night when he was staying at The Burrow, when he, Ron and Ginny had been sent to bed but the older Wealseys were allowed to stay up, Harry spotted yet another type of strange behaviour. Mrs Weasley and Percy were up the kitchen table, drinking tea and having a mundane conversation that Percy seemed far too invested in. Mr Weasley was sat beside them, scribbling something on a scroll of parchment.

But what caught Harry’s attention was what else he was doing. He was rocking slightly in his seat, and his knees were bouncing up and down under the table. And he was muttering something under his breath, smiling like he was really enjoying himself, even though Harry was certain he was doing boring Ministry work. Harry strained his ears, and managed to work out what he was saying over the sound of Percy’s droning voice.

“Telephone, telephone, telephone,” Mr Weasley was saying, pronouncing the word carefully so the vowels rolled off of his tongue. “Telephone, telephone, telephone, telephone, telephone, telephone. . .”

Harry frowned, puzzled. He had no idea what Mr Weasley was doing.

“Hello, Harry, dear,” Mrs Weasley said, spotting him.

Mr Weasley looked up and smiled, his eyes firmly focused on Harry’s forehead. He continued to mouth the word under his breath as Mrs Weasley spoke to Harry. But Harry couldn’t focus on her words, more interested in her husband and his apparent fascination with the word ‘telephone’. Why was he repeating it? What did that mean? And why didn’t it seem to bother Mrs Weasley and Percy? He was so confused.


	4. Chapter 4

The more Harry got to know Ron’s father, the more he came to the conclusion that something was seriously different about him. He knew most wizards were eccentric, but it was more than that. No other wizard he had seen was so socially inept, so clumsy, and so totally oblivious to the fact that his incessant talking really got on people’s nerves. So what was it?

It suddenly clicked, and he wondered how he could have been. He knew where he had seen someone acting like Mr Weasley before! When he was in year 2 at his Muggle school, there had been a boy in his class who had obsessive interests and strange sensory issues, and problems with eye contact. And that boy had been diagnosed with autism. So that meant Mr Weasley must have been autistic. But he didn’t know that wizards could be autistic.

He told himself that he would think more about it later, but, being Harry, he forgot.


	5. Chapter 5

Over a year later, Harry was spending Christmas with the Weasleys, and, once again, he found himself noticing Mr Weasley’s odd behaviour. But he didn’t do anything about it until one night, when he had gone downstairs to get himself a drink, and was trailing back up the many flights of stairs. When he passed one of the spare rooms, he heard strange noises coming from behind the closed door, and kneeled down to look through the keyhole.

Immediately, he spotted Mr Weasley. He was hunched up on the floor, rocking backwards and forwards and crying. But Harry couldn’t hear anything, and he wondered if Mr Weasely may have cast a charm to muffle the sounds coming into the room. His wand was tightly gripped in his left hand, whilst his right hand repeatedly smashed against his forehead. He began to splutter with tears, the rocking motion getting stronger, and sparks shot out of the end of his wand.

Harry didn’t know what the hell he was doing, and he certainly didn’t know how to help. In the end, he ran away, eventually bumping into Hermione as she came out of the bathroom.

“What’s the matter with you?” She asked.

“There’s something wrong with Mr Weasley.”

Hermione frowned. “In what way?”

“He’s crying and hitting himself.”

“I see,” She said after quite a long pause. “Can you show me?”

Harry led her back to where Mr Weasley was, and she looked through the keyhole. She sighed when she saw him.

“Should we go get Mrs Weasley?”

“No, I think he needs to be alone right now. It might make him worse if someone tries to talk to him.”

“Hermione?” Harry said.

She stood up and looked straight at . . . his forehead? “Yes?”

“You know what autism is, don’t you?”

She nodded. “Of course I do. I’m autistic.”

Harry’s eyes widened. “Really?”

“Don’t look so surprised. I was diagnosed with Apserger’s Syndrome when I was nine.”

Harry wondered how he could have not noticed that before. It really was quite obvious when he thought about.

“So do you know what’s wrong with Mr Weasley?”

“He’s having a meltdown,” Hermione said. “It’s what happens when you get a sensory overload and everything is too difficult to bear.”

“I know it’s horrible to watch, but, really, he’ll be fine. Trust me.”

Part of Harry didn’t believe her, but he had to admit that Hermione did know best. And, even though it made him feel bad, they left Mr Weasley to meltdown alone.


	6. Chapter 6

The next time Mr Weasley had a meltdown, however, he wasn’t alone. When Harry got up in the night to go to the loo, he had to pass Mr and Mrs Weasley’s bedroom, and, on his way back, he stopped dead when he heard crying.

Looking through the keyhole, he saw Mr Weasley rocking backwards and forwards, crying, in his wife’s arms. Mrs Weasley was stroking his hair and muttering soothing words. His hands were moving wildly, almost as though he was using sign language, but Harry quickly saw that his twitching hands were making repetitive motions, at least, when they weren’t reaching up and banging against his forehead. He recognised the movements as stimming, which was something else he had learned from Hermione.

Shuddering, Harry went back to Ron’s room and got into his bed on the floor. He tried not to think about it, but he kept remembering the boy at school and what Hermione had told him, and it was hard to forget the look on Mr Weasley’s face as he had cried hysterically, particularly when he was used to seeing him so happy.


	7. Chapter 7

But the biggest thing happened when Harry stumbled upon a boggart while hiding out with the Order in his fifth year. He was going through a cupboard, when, as he opened a draw, a dementor suddenly appeared in front of him.

Harry backed away, his chest tightening in absolute terror. He reached for his wand, and tried cast the ridikulus spell, but nothing happened. He started to feel sick, not seeming to be able to cast the simple spell. The dementor drew closer, and he wanted to run away, but he couldn’t move. He felt like he did back in his first meeting with a boggart, except now he knew what to do, but he just couldn’t do it. He was frozen.

“Hang on, Harry!” Mr Weasley yelled, coming into the room. He shoved Harry aside, and the dementor vanished.

But when the boggart changed, it wasn’t spiders or a dead person, a moon or even a dementor. No, it became a horn, and began to let out an ear-splittingly loud noise. Almost immediately, Mr Weasley’s eyes screwed up and his hands flew up to his ears. His wand fell out of his hand and dropped to the floor.

“Shut up!” He screamed.

He toppled forwards, dropping to his knees, and rocked backwards and forwards as the deafening noise continued, getting louder and louder. He started screaming at the top of his lungs, tears leaking out from behind his eyelids. He looked absolutely terrified and in a great deal of pain. If Harry didn’t know better, he would have thought he was being hexed.

Harry knew he should do something, but, again, he was frozen to the spot. He reached for his wand and tried to cast the spell, but he kept stuttering, and nothing happened.

“ _Rid-ridic-rid_ . . .” He frowned, struggling to concentrate on anything over the deafening noise.

“What is going on up there?” Lupin called. Harry didn’t know how to reply.

He heard Lupin’s footsteps on the stairs, and then he burst into the room. Lupin worked their situation out instantly, pushing past Harry and moving to stand between Mr Weasely and the boggart. As the boggart spotted him, the horn disappeared, the horrible noise ceased, and a moon appeared in the air.

“ _Ridikulus_!” He yelled, holding his wand out. The moon became a balloon, and Lupin skilfully forced the boggart back into the cupboard it had come from.

And then he turned to look at Mr Weasley, who was still screaming. He crouched down in front of him, and put his hands on his shoulders.

“Arthur!” He shouted over the screaming, squeezing Mr Weasley’s shoulders really hard. Mr Weasley didn’t respond. Harry had never seen anyone looking so scared.

“Get Molly, Harry.”

Obediently, Harry ran off down the stairs, until he reached the kitchen. Sirius, Mrs Weasley and everyone else seemed oblivious to what had just happened as they looked up at him.

“Mrs Weasley, I need you to come with me.”

She frowned. “What’s the matter?”

“I found a boggart, and Mr Weasley tried to help me, but it didn’t work. It made a horribly loud noise and terrified him and he won’t stop screaming.”

She jumped to her feet, “Bloody hell.”

Mrs Weasley and Sirius followed after him, and were lead to where Mr Weasley was crying, rocking back and forth, in Lupin’s arms. Harry had never seen him looking so weak, so scared, so totally drained. It was horrible to see.

“Come on, Arthur,” Lupin was saying, but it didn’t seem to calm him down. Still, at least he wasn’t screaming.

Mrs Weasley joined Lupin on the floor, wrapping her arms around her husband. He pressed his forehead against her shoulder, continuing to sob loudly, and she stroked his hair.

“It’s all right, darling,” she said into his ear. “Calm down.”

Mr Weasley topped onto his side and began to bang his head against the floor, hard enough to make Harry wince. Mrs Weasley cupped his head to stop him doing it, with a level of skill that suggested she had done this several times before. She murmured soothing things into his ear, and pressed a kiss to his forehead.

“Can you three please leave?” Mrs Weasley said, looking up at them.

Sirius and Lupin didn’t look like they wanted to leave, and neither did Harry, but they knew that it was never a good idea to argue with Mrs Weasley. Sighing, they trailed out of the room, closing the door behind them.

“Well,” Sirius said. “That was interesting.”

Lupin wiped the sweat from his forehead. “You can say that again.”

“Why’s his boggart noise?” Sirius pondered, leaning against the banister. Harry could still hear him crying, and tried not to think about it.

Lupin shrugged his shoulders, sighing. “It must be what he fears more than anything else. And, considering what happened when he heard that noise, I think it’s rather obvious why he’s so scared of it.”

Harry remembered what Hermione had told him over two years ago. “Hermione once told me that certain people are more sensitive to noise than others,” he said, trying to translate it into something the two wizards might understand. “As well as other things. And, sometimes, when everything gets too intense, you end up having a sort of panic attack like Mr Weasley is having right now. She said it’s called a meltdown.”

Sirius and Lupin looked at each other, looking so puzzled that it made Harry want to laugh. He knew they would never understand. But, then again, he never expected them to. All he expected them to do was stay friends with Mr Weasley, and, of course, they did, because they were good people, much better than the kids who Hermione had said had bullied her at school.


End file.
